


Crashed Cars and Moonlight

by hannahindie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bobby SInger - Freeform, Dean Winchester - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Reader Insert, Smut, Supernatural - Freeform, Teen!Dean, flangst, spn fanfic, supernatural fanfiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 02:50:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16966284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahindie/pseuds/hannahindie
Summary: Dean spends the night with a girl, and he thinks about what it’s going to mean for both of them…as long as Bobby doesn’t catch them.





	Crashed Cars and Moonlight

Dean’s arm is asleep. It’s been that way for awhile but he hasn’t dared to move in fear of waking the sleeping girl currently draped across him. Her hair has spread across her face, moving slightly with each exhalation, and if it isn’t the cutest goddamn thing he has ever witnessed, he’ll let Sammy have shotgun for a month. The moon is really bright, and the sky is the clearest that Dean has seen for awhile. If he were a praying man, he would have sent a thank you to the big man upstairs a thousand times over, because that’s the reason they’re inside this car, limbs tangled and skin still flushed.

He tries to check the time, but she’s laying on his watch arm; not worth it. Instead he settles back into the cracked leather backseat of the wrecked Chevy they are holed up in. He knows they should head back soon, Bobby always gets up early, although Dean suspects that Bobby never really sleeps anyway. They are going to catch hell if he realizes that _both_ of them are out of bed, and he’s almost certain that despite being nineteen years old, Bobby would beat his ass if he puts together exactly _what_ they were doing out in the darkness, alone. Dean looks down at her again, and in that moment, he doesn’t give a shit what Bobby will say. 

He risks touching her and runs his thumb across her bare shoulder, the skin soft under his calloused hand, and he smiles. She’s smooth like marble, and though he has never really given it much thought before, thinks that maybe those Renaissance artists had the right idea. He feels an ache in his chest as he looks at how peaceful she is, how innocent. This might be Bobby’s Home for Wayward Hunters, but she isn’t involved, at least not yet, and sometimes he wonders if she would hold onto him as tightly if she knew what he is really like. If she knew that he is a killer that showers off the blood every night and wonders if what they’re doing is the right thing, that he knows more about guns and knives than he does calculus, or that she’s currently one of the only things still holding him up. He’s nineteen going on forty and he knows it; sometimes he worries that she’ll decide to stick around and join the club of outcasts that tries to keep the world safe. He’s torn because he knows she could do it, but he knows her light would die just a little more each time and he’s positive he can’t handle that. But if she left….he can’t bear _that_ thought either.

He’s young, but he knows. He knows that his time with her is limited. She either moves on and leaves this life behind, or they both stay in it and die bloody and far too soon. He isn’t stupid and neither is she, but now that he’s had a taste of what could be, he can’t let go. He doesn’t _want_ to let go. She shifts against him and he thinks back to earlier, when the silence was broken by their wrecked voices, names whispered into the dark like a gentle prayer. Grazing teeth and rolling hips and _oh my God_ her hands as they skated down his back. He wishes for her to wake up, yearns for the chance to show her how much he loves her again, because words aren’t enough. Despite the never ending parade of shit that seems to follow the Winchesters around, the headaches and the bad luck and the heartache, it seems like with her…it couldn’t touch him, couldn’t touch _her_ , and that’s just it, isn’t it?

“Dean?”

“Yea?”

“What time is it?” Dean is now convinced that he was wrong earlier; _this_ is the cutest goddamn thing he’s ever seen. She sits up and rubs the heel of her hand against her eyes, her hair sticking up every direction. Dean grins but bites his lip to keep from laughing.

Instead, he clears his throat and shakes out his arm, looking at his watch in the process, “It’s three in the morning…we should probably head back inside before Bobby realizes we’re gone.”

She nods, and he feels himself frown when she reaches for her shirt. He tries not to stare, but between the moon and how love drunk he already feels, his eyes take in the sight hungrily, unsure of when or if he’ll ever get to see it again. She pauses and looks at him, and holy _shit_ , she knows. She knows what she’s doing to him and for a moment Dean wants to melt into the seat, down to the ground, and as far into the dirt as he can go. He can tell he’s blushing, which makes it worse…until she seems to change her mind and instead moves so that she’s sitting in his lap, her shirt forgotten on the seat next to them. Now she’s staring at _him_ , her hands cupping either side of his face, her eyes searching his like he’s got all the answers that she’s missing. She leans forward and for a second, he forgets how to breathe as her lips press against his. He wraps his arms around her waist, her warm skin reminding him how alive they are, and how nothing, _absolutely nothing_ , will ever compare to this.

She begins to move, so slow it almost hurts, but he forces himself to stay still and just lose himself in her. She pulls back from him and his eyes travel up, to the dip at the base of her throat, and then to her mouth and oh _God_ , she’s biting her lip. Dean decides then and there that nothing will be as beautiful as she is in the moonlight, head tossed back, bottom lip held between her teeth, and her eyes shut as she rocks against him. A drop of sweat rolls from her temple and down towards her jaw, and he’s mesmerized by the path it travels as it curves over her collarbone and finally disappears in the valley between her breasts.

She whispers his name and he nearly loses it right then, but he manages to hold off because she’s not ready to let go, and he isn’t going to be one of those assholes that gets what he wants and leaves. She deserves more than that, and fuck if she isn’t going to get it. So instead, he grips her hips tighter and starts moving, timing his thrusts with hers, and watches as her head drops and her breathing quickens. He can feel her nails digging into his shoulders and he’ll be surprised if there aren’t marks tomorrow, but he’s lying to himself if he doesn’t hope that it happens. Anything to remind him that this is real, this is happening and it isn’t some dream that will fade away when he wakes up. He can feel her tighten against him and she cries out; small and low, but it’s enough to trigger his own release and he moans her name against her neck, his pulse rapid as he tries to catch his breath.

He leans back and she puts her forehead against his, her eyes closed and a smile on her face. He’s fucked, well and truly fucked, and he doesn’t care. If he’s able to make her smile, if he’s good enough to do _that_ …shit, nothing else matters.

“Y/N…”

She opens her eyes and they lock with his, bright and shining and full of what Dean is almost fairly certain is love. “Me too,” she says quietly, as if the Chevy is a confessional and her words a soft confession between him and the broken down dashboard. She reaches for her shirt and pulls it on, then tosses Dean his. They both slide out of the car and finish dressing, and she stands on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Promise you’ll always come back, Dean Winchester. Promise you won’t let this life take you away, huh?”

Dean knows he can’t. His life has been decided for him, but he isn’t going to tell her that. He isn’t going to lie, he truly means what he says next but deep down he knows it’s only a dream. He doesn’t have a choice. “I promise.”

She smiles and gives a little nod, then runs into the house, quietly shutting the door behind her. Dean isn’t really a smoker, but he fishes the crumpled pack he stole from the run-down gas station a few hunts back and flicks the beat up lighter he’d taken from the Impala glove box to life. He takes a drag, the smoke curling from his mouth winding gracefully skywards, and wonders what’s next. He loves her, and it’s a fact he can’t deny now, but knowing she feels the same…it somehow makes all of this worth it.

He field strips his cigarette when he reaches the porch so that no one catches him, which he finds stupid since dying from cancer is really the last thing he’s worried about at this point, and quietly slips through the front door and into the living room. The lamp clicks on and he groans.

“Bobby, I can explain-”

“I don’t wanna hear it, boy, she’s already given enough damn excuses for the both of ya.” Bobby stands up from his chair and walks over to stand in front of Dean. He doesn’t seem angry, or disappointed, which is almost scarier than he if just yelled. Sam is sleeping though, so thank God for small favors. “She says you were a perfect gentleman, you just took her on a walk since neither of you could sleep.”

Dean nods, glad that the living room is mostly dark because he can feel the burning flush creeping up his neck, “Yes, sir.”

“You ain’t lyin’ to me now, are ya boy?”

“No, sir.”

Bobby leans in closer, his eyes never leaving Dean’s, “You best not hurt that girl. She’s been through enough. You protect her, or I will kick your ass, you hear me?”

Dean nods, his heart in his throat, “Yes, sir.”

Bobby steps back and crosses his arms and Dean breathes a sigh of relief, “Good. Now get to bed.”

Dean takes off towards the steps but stops when Bobby calls out to him.

“You might wanna wash that makeup off your neck before John gets back tomorrow. I ain’t so sure he wants to know what his boys were up to while he was gone.”

Dean runs the rest of the way to the bathroom, and Bobby chuckles to himself as he shuts the light off and heads towards his own room. “Idjit.”


End file.
